


Where the sea meets the shore (it´s always more dangerous than you think)

by lowbatteryhigheyes



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Alternate Universe, M/M, Mutual Pining?, Pining, Prinxiety - Freeform, Virgil has a newfoundland dog, and he lives in a lighthouse, human AU??, married moceit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24838267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowbatteryhigheyes/pseuds/lowbatteryhigheyes
Summary: A curious son of a fisherman stumbles upon a lighthouse and a boy with far more secrets than he realises, but really what do you expect from someone living in a lighthouse
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Kudos: 19





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here´s the unfinished playlist for this fic https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2DCZ3F5SPnCuV4wxOLitcp?si=9VNktNtBQ7ajxFPS6gJXcA

A fisherman's son was walking by the sea - just where the water stopped - with his longing eyes turned to the horizon. He had done this a million times before - could you really call yourself a fisherman if you had never walked on the beach and looked longingly at the horizon? But this time was different, not because he wasn’t longing (this particular boy was always longing for something, longing for adventure, for art, for love, for something different than what he had) His pace was fast – as the paces of people his age usually was but he wasn’t in a hurry. He was exploring – adventuring as he liked to call it himself. 

He was just a curious soul by nature and this beach was a territory he hadn't explored before. His eyes were filled with wonder and his brain full of ideas and he couldn’t keep still for even a second – so much to see, so much to explore. The smell was different from his own beach. This one was colder, more magical – it felt like an ancient god had touched the beach with the tip of their fingertips, barely making contact but undeniably making an impact. 

The boy daydreamed about that day - the day a god touched the beach. He dreamed about the seemingly normal beach being turned into something straight out of a fairy-tale. The plain forest – no doubt filled with adventures but lacking the magic – transforming into winding trees filled with the howling of something that isn't quite an owl. The sky that up until then had changed on the weathers command, suddenly having a mind of its own. A mind that decided that the clouds should be big, grey swirls not much of a contrast to the slightly lighter grey sky. The sea – that normally would match the sky, no questions asked – changing into a dark colour. If the boy hadn't known any better, he would have said that it was black, but he knew that it wasn’t possible. On the other hand, what had stopped him from believing in the impossible before? 

Suddenly something (a wave, the wind or something completely different) told him to stop. It asked him nicely, so he obeyed. He probably would have done it either way but the comfort of knowing that he had a choice made it feel more like an adventure. More like something exciting and thrilling. Exciting and thrilling was the words he wanted to describe his life. The words he wanted to tell his grandchildren. 

He couldn’t say for sure if what happened was an accident, but if you asked him then the answer would be that he didn’t think so. The wave brushing on the shore was supposed to hit his feet, but it carefully avoided him not daring to come closer than a few centimetres. The waves retreated into the ocean never to be seen again and right in front of him where the water had just been was a rock. It wasn’t magical – at least not the kind of magic that the boy would be impressed by – but it was certainly beautiful. The deep blue swirls made it look like someone had dipped it in paint that hadn't dried yet. But several of seconds passed, and the stone didn’t look different. The boy picked it up and put it in one of his many pockets. 

“A rightful payment for a wish” he said to himself as he began walking again this time – barely feeling the stone in his pocket.  
In reality, wishes didn’t cost anything. Certainly not a pretty stone found on the beach by a boy with a running nose and cheeks red from the cold wind. 

“They´re just stories” people would say when they talked to him about wishes “you desperately want your fantasies to be real so you do the best you can to prove them so” people would often take a sip of whatever they were drinking when they said that to remind him that they were better and smarter than him. Not that the boy would be listening - he would be too busy getting lost in his fantasy stories. They would continue – something about letting go of his silly dreams and focusing on school. He was such a bright boy after all – not quite as much as his unusually bright friend but really – who was? And what his interest in schoolwork lacked he made up with enthusiasm for everything else he did. If the boy was lucky enough to have his unusually bright friend near him at the time, then said friend would scoff at them and their ignorance and lead the conversation on to something else. The fisherman's son would smile at his friend and the friend would know that it meant thank you. The friend would smile back. 

The terrain quickly went from flat beach to rocky hill. More and more grass appeared, and the wind became stronger and colder as he got higher and higher up. The sea was now far under him and he had to be careful with where he stepped so he would not fall. Slowly his fingers turned colder along with his feet. The longer he walked the colder his body turned and at this time it didn’t feel like an adventure anymore, at this point he just wanted to find the person he was looking for. The wish-giver. Hopefully the receiver of the stone. He didn’t know how close he was to the wish-giver - he only knew that he was looking for a lighthouse very close to the beach he had been on before. Everything else was still a mystery. The idea of a wish-giver fascinated him greatly. A person able to give people what they wished for with the help of unknown sources? It was an adventure waiting to be lived and a story waiting to be told. The story was unfortunately already told but the boy was working on rewriting it. He wanted to make it better for everyone. Especially the wish-giver. 

The road kept going upwards and the scenery became more and more beautiful. He could still see the beautiful clouds and the void-like sea, but he was now walking closer to the forest than before. It was lurking at him – watching and discussing his every move. He couldn’t understand it´s language – he had spent more time on a boat than in his own home, so he didn’t really have the time to explore the forest as much as he wanted to – but if he could then he would know that he was on the right path.  
“Just a little more, young boy” the trees whispered at him. Their words may have seemed useless from an outsider's view but even if the boy didn’t understand their language then he still knew what they wanted to tell him. His hopes were high again even though he wasn’t quite sure why. 

He didn’t know how long he had walked but after more time than seemingly possible a lighthouse appeared in the distance. It was still early day, so it wasn’t leading the ships on their way but even without the beam of light shining over the ocean the lighthouse was still clear and visible from a far distance. Hopefully not too far thought the fisherman's son. The trees had given him hope but there's always a limit to what you can understand without knowing how to listen. 

Luckily for him the lighthouse came closer in a much quicker tempo than expected and even though the terrain now went down much quicker than it had gone up he still managed to keep his balance and a steady pace.  
As he got closer, he could see more details, both on the tower itself and the little cottage-like house. It was clearly old but well maintained and the boy knew that it meant that someone had been there recently. Also, there was a thin stream of smoke coming out from the chimney and on the boy's experience that meant that some lived there. 

The little, wooden door on the house came closer to him almost too quickly. For a moment – maybe the shortest moment to ever exist – he hesitated. What if knocking on the door would bring harm to the world? A small voice in his head muttered to him in that short moment. But what if it brings happiness? Said another voice. Several voices agreed and the boy had to shake his head to make them stop. It was like the place was talking to him and he didn’t need more voices in his head than his own and occasionally his fathers.  
He knocked on the door.  
Three times. Knock, knock, knock three times in a row almost certain that this was what he wanted. Almost certain that this wouldn't end badly. 

The door didn´t open. Not after two seconds, not after ten. After thirty he tried again. Knock, knock, knock. As even as the first time even though the hand knocking wasn’t quite as sure as before. He knew that there was someone in there but if they didn’t open then all this would have been wasted. He couldn't force them to come out and open the door. The stone weighed down in his jacket. The waves hit the shore closer to him than he would have guessed. A single seagull cried out, but the boy knew that it wasn’t the only one. A minute had passed since he knocked the first time and still no luck. He sighed in harmony with the wind, already feeling his shoulder slouch and mouth turn downwards. One last time. Knock, knock, knock. 

Another seagull cried out along with another bird that the boy couldn’t quite place because of the wind and the waves. A sound from the inside, almost contained, reached the boy´s ears. A dog bark. And a big one, so big that it would be hard to control. Someone was doing their best though, because just after another sound – the sound of a person's voice trying to shush it escaped the door. Another bark and a voice that clearly had given up on containing the dogs excited noises. Steps towards the door, a lock being opened. The boy hadn't noticed but his whole body was twitching with anticipation, it was building up inside him threatening to explode, to make him explode. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was being dragged underwater by invisible hands despite having both feet steadily on the ground. His hand reached towards the wall in front of him, but it seemed so far away. His vision melted together, and the smell of the ocean was suddenly overwhelming. The door opened but he didn’t get a chance to see who was one the other side because his knees gave out and his head hit the stones on the ground. The last thing he could hear before he lost his consciousness completely was a loud gasp.


	2. Chapter 2

Warmth. The fisherman's son woke up and the only thing he could feel was warmth. Not the warmth of a hug – this warmth was less personal. Less like a human. The thing that was warming him was much bigger and softer than a human. It reminded him of something, but his head hurt, and it didn’t seem like the most important thing at the moment. 

He didn’t open his eyes, but he kept himself from falling asleep again no matter how tempting it was.   
Luckily for him the temptation of sleep was much weaker than his curiosity and the sounds coming from the room he was in was enough to keep him awake.   
The warm, orange sounds normally associated with a fireplace was everywhere but mostly in front of him. The sounds from the fire touched his hair and told him that he was safe. He didn’t know if he could trust them.   
Somewhere behind him was another person walking back and forth and humming to themselves. He felt like he had heard the voice before, and he was so focused on trying to figure out who it was that he didn’t even notice the gigantic dog that was draped over him. 

The humming turned into a short, high pitched whistle and the fisherman's son could feel all the warmth from earlier leaving him. It wasn’t that it was cold without the dog (far from actually), but it was a massive change and if he hadn't been awake before the shift would have woken him up. 

A voice spoke softly, almost a whisper. The owner sounded slightly on edge, like they were afraid that the fisherman's son would be a threat to them and the dog. It didn’t make sense – he was the one who had passed out and they were afraid of him? He needed to know who the owner of the voice was. The boy couldn't wait any longer, he couldn't remember the last time he had been the curious – he needed to look. To know. 

Carefully, he peaked out through his eyelashes. He had been right – in front of him was a lit fireplace warming up the room. The owner of the voice – who he became more and more sure wasn’t the wish giver – had placed him on the couch. It was standing slightly to the right facing towards the fire and an old armchair made of the same rough material as the couch. On the wall next to the fireplace hung a thing veil over an alcove – probably where the owner of the voice slept. Above him hung a myriad of dried plants and vegetables. Garlic and other onion lookalikes hung in bunches along with lavender and heavenly smelling flowers. They were hung in a well thought out pattern so even the boy could see that there was put a lot of thought into it with just a single glance. Someone had taken the time to do this – days probably. It wasn’t a weird thing to spend so much time on, but the boy figured that if he lived so close to the sea, he would be swimming or fishing all day and not hanging up plants in the ceiling. 

He tried to angle his body a little – the material the couch was made of felt itchy and unused and his head was trying to convince him to lay still, but once again his curiosity was stronger and with just a few centimetres he could see the rest of the room. With a better idea of what the room looked like he could make an easier escape if the situation forced him to do so - not that he thought it would come to that, but he had been raised to never trust strangers. Especially not strangers living far away from any city, close to the sea, with a dog bigger than a man. 

“Oh, so you are awake” the owner of the voice (the prettiest boy he had ever seen realised the fisherman's son now that he could see his face) turned around at the sound of the fabric rubbing against fabric and looked at him. 

“Can you remember your name?” he looked hesitant, afraid like there boy had assumed but he couldn't help but feel calmed by his voice, it made his aching head seem a little farther away. It sounded like he had learned how to talk by hearing people sing and like he couldn't quite shake off the melody in his sentences. His voice reminded him of being younger and of waves hitting the shore. 

He simply nodded. 

“Can you tell me your name?” the boy had with soundless steps walked up to the couch, looking down at him with the same expression as the dog who had been his blanket just a few minutes earlier. It was a fun thing – to see a dog have almost the exact same expression as a human. Was that even possible? The fisherman's son didn’t know. 

They both looked more scared than he felt which was odd. They had the upper hand in everything. They could have killed him while he was unconscious. They could kill him now if they wanted to - they could throw his body in the ocean and hide the evidence to make sure no one found out.   
The best idea would probably be to just give them his name, so there wouldn't be any bodies in the ocean that day. 

“It´s Roman” somehow his voice was rough. Like he hadn't spoken weeks. His heart dropped. How long had he been out for? Panicked he sat up, scratching his hand on the rough material of the couch, trying to ignore his head and looking desperately around for a window or something else that could tell him the time. Were people looking for him? Would they even be able to track his path and find him? It had seemed like he was the only one who was curious enough to walk for so long on such curious paths that maybe he would never be found. The thought was terrifying. 

But if the small round windows placed at seemingly random spots on the walls were right it was still early day. He had probably only been unconscious for maybe half an hour. He allowed himself to sigh in relief despite his situation. 

The other boy stepped back at his sudden movements; his hand reached behind him ready to grab anything to protect himself. The dog – better at reading the room than Roman - had begun growling. A deep angry sound coming deep from its stomach. It sounded a little too similar to the monster who had lived under his bed when he was younger. He shuddered involuntarily. 

“I´m sorry I-” Roman tried coughing away the roughness of his voice away - to no avail, it still sounded like he had swallowed his own weight in salt water - “I just wanted to make sure that I hadn't been asleep for hours – it would be a mess if my dad thought I was lost and had begun looking for me, I may have looked a little panicked” he tried a smile, hoping to look less intimidating but not knowing if it just looked like a grimace. It probably looked more like a grimace. 

Despite not changing his expression the boy signalled the dog to stop growling. Roman could feel the small muscles behind his eyes relaxing, and he had to stop himself from visibly relaxing his shoulders. Somehow, he had forgotten just how afraid he had been of the monster who had lurked under his bed when he was a child. He couldn't even remember how it came to be. Had his imagination made him so scared or was it his dad who had made him afraid of the darkness under his bed because of an offhand comment meant to keep him in bed? Or was it something more mysterious than that? Something more dangerous? Something that he truly needed to be afraid of? 

Roman didn’t know and normally he probably would have just brushed the thought away – a result of being told that he was too old to imagine things like that one too many times – but something about the room and especially the boy made him believe that there were things no humans had ever encountered. 

Oddly enough it didn’t make him feel afraid. 

With steps as silent as the ones before the boy once again stepped closer to the couch - or maybe Roman just didn’t hear them because his thoughts were in so many places and the boy was so, so pretty – and this time he wasn't looking at Roman with fear or uncertainty in his eyes, this time his eyes were filled with wonder. Roman doesn't know if the boy could tell that he felt less anxious just by the look on his face or if he could feel it. Both things seemed possible and he still hadn't confirmed if he was the wish giver yet. 

The dog - still an excellent room reader – could feel the shift in its owner's mood at the same time as Roman could see it, but instead of featherlight steps and eyes without fear it choose to show its changed feelings by waddling up to the couch and draping its entire body over Romans legs, effectively trapping him. He almost flinches, his body remembering his fear better than his head, but the warmth of the fur and the deep breaths the dog takes calms him down. 

“I´m going to make us a cup of tea” the boy said, then hesitated “your voice clearly needs it” he turned around before Roman could see his expression, but something told him he was smiling.


End file.
